Change

Hello blog dear, I've been away. I suppose that's part of being at college though, you will have to bear with me as I neglect but never forget you. So, before I get too caught up in mindless babbling, let us begin with the actual topic of this post. (Yes, half of it will probably be babbling, because that is what I do best.)

The other night I was noticing all the quotes that people had put up in the hallway of my dorm. It's interesting what you can learn about people from the quotes they select and display. To put it into a mildly sentimental sentence- you could say quotes are like windows into the soul. (See, I warned you it was a sentimental sounding sentence!) Anyway, the night I was walking past the one that caught my eye was one by Scott Fitzgerald: "It’s a funny thing about coming home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You realize what has changed is you." 

It's one of those quotes that gets you to musing. I've been thinking about how true it is, but not just from home. (Actually, I don't really find it relevant with home at all. At least, not to the point where it is worth mentioning, because home is a different story altogether.) Particularly I find this quote relevant in my relations with college dorms. I guess it stands out to me because with college there are all these funny transitions with breaks and what-not, where you are separated from what becomes your daily life, and then you are thrown back into it, and everything is the same, but so different. The things that are the same are the laundry hamper, the blankets on your bed, the pictures on the wall, but most especially the daily routine you fall into of trudging down the hall at exactly the same time every morning. Everything looks, smells, and feels the same, it's the same routine that became so habitual last semester, but even though there is all that sameness there is so much different.

It's just a very fascinating thing to think about because it's very rare that you get to have such a close observation of your own change. I feel like that is put badly, but I don't know how else to word it. See, we're constantly in a state of change, a state of growth, and whether we're growing in good habits or bad ones there is still always that sense of change. Normally we can't pick out that change in ourselves, because it happens so gradually, but with going away to school and coming back it's easier to pick out little things that you feel differently about even from break to break.

Even in our relations with other people there is that sense of change in yourself. I'm going to school with exactly the same people that I started out the first semester with back in August, and yet my knowledge of all of them is so different. This is something I've thought a lot about, because you can look back at all those first impressions you had and realize how different people are from what you first thought them at introduction. Maybe that change is in you, maybe it is them, maybe (and this is most likely) both. Oddly enough, this topic goes quite well with what we're talking about in my Philosophy of Human Nature course. We've just started to delve into talking about what constitutes nature, but one of the first things we've talked about is how something that distinguishes things that are constituted by nature from those that are not is the impulse towards change and growth.

Long story short, isn't it funny, that feeling of sameness and difference? To look at something and remember exactly how you felt when you beheld it for the first time, and at the same time be looking at it through different eyes and with different understanding.

Philosophy and Jane Austen

Beware, the following post may get a bit involved and lengthy, but it's a post I've been meaning to write up since mid-semester last year. Dedicated to my darling Dr. Cuddeback companion: the lovely Alexandra.

In Philosophy class Alex and I like to make connections to Jane Austen. That's just what Austenites do. If something is worth mentioning, it is worth mentioning with reference to our noble patroness. So naturally, when we got to the part of the class where we talked about Plato's Allegory of the Cave, we looked at it in the eyes of dedicated Austenites and drew a most brilliant connection. For the purpose of this post I must first make some explanation of what the Allegory of the Cave is all about, however, and as I don't feel up to the task myself I have found a brief (yes, this is the briefest one I could find) explanation of it. (You'll thank me later, if I put this into my own words you would find yourself in the greatest muddle.)

The Allegory of the Cave

1. Plato realizes that the general run of humankind can think, and speak, etc., without (so far as they acknowledge) any awareness of his realm of Forms.
2. The allegory of the cave is supposed to explain this.
3. In the allegory, Plato likens people untutored in the Theory of Forms to prisoners chained in a cave, unable to turn their heads. All they can see is the wall of the cave. Behind them burns a fire.  Between the fire and the prisoners there is a parapet, along which puppeteers can walk. The puppeteers, who are behind the prisoners, hold up puppets that cast shadows on the wall of the cave. The prisoners are unable to see these puppets, the real objects, that pass behind them. What the prisoners see and hear are shadows and echoes cast by objects that they do not see. Here is an illustration of Plato’s Cave:
4. Such prisoners would mistake appearance for reality. They would think the things they see on the wall (the shadows) were real; they would know nothing of the real causes of the shadows.
5. So when the prisoners talk, what are they talking about? If an object (a book, let us say) is carried past behind them, and it casts a shadow on the wall, and a prisoner says “I see a book,” what is he talking about?He thinks he is talking about a book, but he is really talking about a shadow. But he uses the word “book.” What does that refer to?
   
6. Plato gives his answer at line (515b2). The text here has puzzled many editors, and it has been frequently emended. The translation in Grube/Reeve gets the point correctly:

   “And if they could talk to one another, don’t you think they’d suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them?”

7. Plato’s point is that the prisoners would be mistaken. For they would be taking the terms in their language to refer to the shadows that pass before their eyes, rather than (as is correct, in Plato’s view) to the real things that cast the shadows.If a prisoner says “That’s a book” he thinks that the word “book” refers to the very thing he is looking at. But he would be wrong. He’s only looking at a shadow. The real referent of the word “book” he cannot see. To see it, he would have to turn his head around. (http://faculty.washington.edu/smcohen/320/cave.htm)

So basically, there are several levels of knowledge. There is the looking at shadows and believing them to be reality, there is the turning your head and seeing the shadows for what they are, there is the emerging from the cave and seeing reality (but after being in the cave so long your eyes are going to be blinded by the light and you aren't going to grasp it all) and then there is the moment where your eyes have adjusted and you finally take it all in. 

Now comes the moment where I get to explain our Jane Austen comparison. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there are many different kinds of Jane Austen fans, and there are many different levels of comprehension for her work. These levels of comprehension correspond with the levels of knowledge. So first we have, what I will call the

LOST IN AUSTEN FANGIRL

She professes to be Jane Austen's biggest fan. She proclaims she has read Jane Austen's books so many times she has lost track (please note, she only ever mentions Pride and Prejudice.) She talks about how she dreams of living in the regency era (and yet, she has practically speaking no knowledge of how to survive in that time period) The fact of the matter is that the Lost in Austen fangirl talks about being obsessed with Jane Austen but what she's really obsessed with is Colin Firth in a wet shirt. Example A.

If you've seen Lost in Austen you will know what I'm talking about..

By this time you can probably guess what level of knowledge I'm drawing this comparison to. The Lost in Austen fangirl is like the person absorbed with the shadows on the wall. They see, but they do not see. They cannot get past Mr. Darcy in the wet shirt, and they cannot get past the shadows of what is there to be seen. It is a superficial knowledge, a knowledge that does not get past the very cover of things.

We then proceed to the second level.

THE BBC PRIDE AND PREJUDICE FANGIRL

This fangirl watches the BBC adaption of Pride and Prejudice on repeat. She adores everything about it. Now, don't get me wrong, the BBC adaption is the best of all adaptions. It is the one that comes closest to capturing the essence of the story, but in this fangirl there's still a lot of obsession with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy.

Then we have:

THE FIRST TIME READER

Now, I don't know about you, but the first time I read Pride and Prejudice I just thought of it as a ripping good story. I wasn't looking for deeper meanings, themes, or motifs, I was just enjoying it for the storyline. It amused me and I laughed with the characters but it didn't lead me to deep arduous contemplation on humanity or human nature. You see the reality, but it's too bright to take everything in.

last but not least we have:

THE DEVOTED AUSTENITE

The one who read Jane Austen and see all that is there. They who look beyond the portrayal of the characters from movie adaptions, beyond the story itself, and look for the world as seen through Jane Austen's eyes. This is the reader who is trying to learn from what is written, finding depth and finding meaning. 

In short, this has been a comparison between the different levels of comprehension in the Jane Austen reader, and Plato's Allegory of the cave.

Death Comes to Pemberley

Okay so let it be known that I was more than a little skeptical when I heard about Death Comes to Pemberley. First of all, because I had seen various copies of this book in bookstores and had scoffed scornfully and had marched off without a second glance at the cover. This is because for the majority of the time Pride and Prejudice spin-offs (especially the more fantastical ones) are a crime against literature, and most certainly not Emily approved. However, I have a soft spot in my heart for Jenna-Louise Coleman and after hearing that she played Lydia Bennet my interest was caught.

I mean, look at that hat! Look at that ruffled collar! Look at the lovely red color of that gown! To be quite honest I was sold by screenshots and gifsets. A+ for marketing, oh great interwebz. So first off let me just say that Jenna Louise Coleman was fantastic. I was very interested by the portrayal of Lydia Bennet in Death Comes to Pemberley. I felt like she was really well fleshed out, and the continuation of her character from what we are given in Pride and Prejudice was both well done and fascinating. Also, can I have a round of applause for the casting of Mr. George Wickham?

Matthew Goode was excellent. In fact, he might very well be my favorite actor to play Wickham in a period adaption. See, the problem usually is that movies make Wickham so obviously despicable. Part of the allure of Wickham is that he IS alluring. He's handsome, he's eloquent, he draws you in and makes you overlook his flaws. Even once his real character is revealed there's still something appealing to him. Give us some credit Hollywood, we are rational beings (mostly) and we can sort out a good fellow from a bad one without you casting him as ugly and repulsive. 

So basically, let's hear it for the Wickhams. They make this movie.

Overall this production is gorgeous. The costumes are lovely, the cinematography is beautiful, the casting is for the most part well-done. As a continuation to the story of Pemberley it is delightful. However, as a mystery it's a bit of a flop. I feel like most of the scenes that were meant to connect the plot together were a bit awkward and also predictable. This might be because I have read A LOT of Agatha Christie's, so I have a high standard for mystery plots. This one was a dud. Pemberley and mystery is a bit of an awkward mix. Though this combination lead to a furthering of the Wickham storyline, which as I have said, was thoroughly well done, it remains I wasn't fond of the mystery element.

I have two other complaints. First COLONEL FITZWILLIAM. Badly done. Badly done, indeed. I shook my fist heartily. He was the only character who stood out like a sore thumb as completely out-of-character. I love Colonel Fitzwilliam of the book, where did this moody brooding creature come from? Seriously, the guy brooded for the entire three hours. There's nothing attractive about a furrowed brow, my good sir. Kindly uncrease your forehead and start acting like a proper Colonel Fitzwilliam. My other complaint is similar, but not as emphatic. I felt like Elizabeth Bennet was a bit bland and stale and even a bit *gulp* dull. She didn't stand out, but that's the problem, Elizabeth Bennet was meant to stand out. She was meant to sparkle. This Elizabeth had no sparkle to her. She might have passed as one of Jane Austen's other female characters, but she was not the Elizabeth Bennet we all know and love.

(Sidenote: I always get ridiculous amounts of pleasure whenever children appear in regency films, and the Darcy children were adorable. With their little cravats, oh my good heavens. They deserve a cupcake.)

All and all it was quite enjoyable and I do recommend, if purely for the Wickhams' sake, which is a sentence I never thought I would be saying.

Did I mention Georgiana was adorable? I want her bonnet. 

Also, someone uploaded it to youtube, so it's available to watch there. Thank you kind sir or madam, whoever you are.

To be a Librarian

If you know me, you probably know that my dream job is to be a Children's Librarian. I have frequent rants about it. Well, rants implies being irritated and launching into a lengthy monologue because of it, what I mean instead would be launching into a lengthy monologue simply because I'm passionate about the subject and enjoy talking about it. I know being a Librarian isn't the best paid job, I know that it might be hard to find a job, I know that there's a lot of school involved, but I also know that it's the thing that I get most excited about, the thing that I want to work towards. I've always loved books and because of that I've always loved libraries. I have been a frequent visitor to my hometown library since before I can remember, and I have been working at libraries since my sixteenth birthday when I was finally old enough to apply for my first job. I'm eighteen now and working part time at the library at my college, as I have mentioned before. I think I officially decided I wanted to be a Librarian the second year of working at my Library. (When I say my library that would be this one: http://www.jclibrary.info/)

I specifically want to be a Children's Librarian because I love kids. That sounds a bit obvious, I know, but I want to be there for them. Education is such a beautiful wonderful thing, and I feel like part of the problem with our education system as it is, is that the love of it is sadly not emphasized. The emphasis is on grades, it's on getting through, and there's something so sad about that. The child who loves to read, who loves to learn, is far more likely to succeed with their education, because they are the ones who are going to go above and beyond. They are the ones who are going to want to pick up books that they read about in other books because they are interested. Instead of just filling the requirements they are going to want to do more, find out more, discover more. Part of the beauty of being a Children's Librarian is that it's part of their job to work out introducing this love of learning. As a Librarian you are outside of the school system, and yet you are someone that students come to for help and advice. Whether it is for school or for free-time, you get to introduce books, all the books that you have loved and that have changed your life.

Also, crafts. Arts and crafts are the best, and guess what a Children's Librarian gets to do? Design fun programs! Summer programs, and programs for drawing, reading, etc, etc. Does that sound like fun or what?

The other reason I want to be a Children's Librarian is something I learned while working at the library over the years. There are so many kids who come to the library who need someone. You see so many kids who so obviously don't have anyone, their home lives are less that ideal. There are kids who come to the library after school because there isn't anyone at home. Or come to the library with their parents and behave terribly, but really what they're doing is seeking attention. Their parent is sitting at the computers and the kid is doing anything that they can think of just to get their parent to pay attention to them, and it's heartbreaking. There are kids who are dressed in mismatch clothes, who haven't had their hair brushed, and there's nothing sadder than that. Those kids need someone. They need someone who's going to care, who wants to listen to them, who wants to hear what they have to say. Everyone needs someone like that in there life, and that person can be all the difference in a child's life. Over the course of working at the library I had kids who would just follow me around while I was shelving books because I was someone to talk to, someone who didn't tell them to go away and be quiet. I want to be that person in those children's lives.

That's why I want to be a Children's Librarian. Why I think working at the library is wonderful. Why I think more people should visit the library. Why I think the library's so very important.

So...That Happened.

1.) On the first day of school I thought I would be well-rested, well-prepared, and punctual. With these good intentions I started out for class well ahead of time. In fact, I was doing brilliantly. I surprised even myself! I arrived a good ten minutes early, found a desk and started laying out my pens and books. I was quite proud of myself (because, to be honest, I'm not known for my time management skills.) Only then did I start to look around my classroom. My thought process went something like well, this is a nice classroom. Not bad, Emily, not bad. You're doing all right here. Ten minutes early, your pens are all nice and symmetrical on your desk, you're doing all right. Hey, that's funny, you know, there's a lot of upperclassmen in my English 101 class, that's not real promising. Actually, I don't see any faces I recognize. That's weird. Where are all the freshmen? So by that time I'm beginning to realize there's something fishy going on. I turned around in my seat and asked resignedly of the girl behind me "this isn't my English 101 class, is it?"

 

2.) On my first Saturday at school I spilled a glass of milk. I spilled a glass of milk all over the table. I spilled a glass of milk into a boy's lap. It was all quite by accident. They asked me to pass a napkin box. I was paying attention to the conversation! They should have known better than to ask me to pass a napkin box! They would learn to know better. Whoops, went the napkin box! Whoops, went the glass of milk! I spent the rest of the meal alternately apologizing and turning beet red.

 

So then I almost got run over by a car. I decided it was a good idea to start a conversation with the boy I had spilt milk on. Play it cool, try and show I wasn't a nincompoop, I could hold a conversation without spilling milk! We're walking out into the parking-lot, I'm not looking where I'm going, next thing I know he's saying "Look out! There's a car right behind you!" I twirl around and realized I just about died. So that story adds a new meaning to "no use crying over spilt milk."

 

3.) I forgot someone's name. That's a natural enough thing to do, we met a lot of people in those first couple weeks of school. The only thing was, instead of doing the normal thing and simply asking for a reintroduction I just pretended I knew it...for a couple of weeks...

 

Until finally someone said it and I had an Aha! moment. Not doing that again.

 

4.) On my last day of the Semester my favorite teacher came up to me and started a conversation. It made my day. I dropped my soup. That did not. I think I just got really interested in what he was saying, or maybe I was just excited, or maybe I was flustered. WHO KNOWS. All I know is one minute I had a cup of steaming soup in one hand and a spoon in another, next thing I knew both were splattered on the floor!

 

5.) So in math class one day the professor was talking about ancient mathematicians, and we came across the quote about the "Moving Finger" and he asked what book that reference was from and I must have been daydreaming because I got really excited and shot my hand up and was like "SHAKESPEARE." No, Emily, this was before Shakespeare. Long before. This was THE BIBLE. I'm sorry, I was just thinking about how Agatha Christie's book was named The Moving Finger and she got that out of Shakespeare and he must have got that out of THE BIBLE. Duh.

 

6.) Italian night I was swing dancing with a boy and my shoe came right off my foot and went flying across the room. "Just a second" I said, trying to muster what grace I had left as I trotted off to find my shoe and return to my partner to finish our dance. He just looked at me with his eyes round, as if to say how did that just happen.

 

7.) One night when I was on the phone with my Mom I dropped a cement block on my foot. Don't ask me how. Again, it was one of those situations, where I just don't have a clue. Anyhow, my foot was quite bruised, and then I was shelving books at the library and I found the biggest book possible (it was one of Michelangelo, and you know how big those get!) and proceeded to promptly drop it on the same foot. Why, Michelangelo, why? Why would you do that to poor little Emily?

 

8.) Did I mention that at the end of last summer I smashed my thumb in the car door? I nearly fainted. Literally. So during school my thumb nail fell off, I decided my thumb without it's nail looked like the Phantom of the Opera's face, and proceeded to sing Phantom of the Opera songs to my roommate. I hope she appreciated that. It took effort.

 

 

 

Five Lovely First Semester Memories

1.) The Night of The Writers. I call it that because that is what it was, a night where the writers among us gathered together in a writerly pow-wow, and it was the most wonderful night because of it. It started out with Alex and I sitting on a quilt in my bedroom, we both had our laptops out and were pounding feverishly away (as I have said, opportunities for writing during school are few and far between and as such are infinitely precious). Before long Monica joined us with her laptop and Jen with her notebook, and we simply continued sitting on the floor and writing. Later that evening we drank tea and started reading excerpts from our various stories out loud. It will always be one of my favorite memories from First Semester because it signifies so much of what I love about Christendom. I love that I have friends who love to write as much as I do. I love that we had an evening dedicated to writing. When I picture that night I think of us all giggling over Monica's fairytale, each in our own spot on the floor. I can't believe how blessed I am to have found myself in such a wonderful place, amongst such wonderful people. That night was story-book worthy, it deserves to be in a book, four girls, their writing and their tea.


2.) The Snow Day. I love snow. Perhaps this is partially due to growing up in a place where snow is considered either a rare treat by one set of people or a rare curse by another. Whatever the case, the day of the first snow I was extremely excited. I woke up bleary eyed and looking very much like your morning zombie, trudged out the door and down the hall to wash the sleepiness out of my eyes, when I walked past the window I saw a winter wonderland. As you can imagine I ran back into our room like:

 

Poor Jen would have gotten excited, only she had a migraine, so she couldn't. Kiersten doesn't like snow (she gets a lot at home). So my enthusiasm was entirely unwanted. I instantly hushed myself up but silently made this face to myself. 

If nobody else is going to be excited I am going to be excited all by myself.

It really was a wonderful day. Abby and I continuously rolled down hills. It was dizzying and exhilarating. We also got ourselves stuck in a ditch. I don't know how we ended up getting ourselves out of it- but we did.

 

 

3.) Number three is the night Jen and I laughed ourselves into hysterics. I don't think I have ever laughed so hard. I don't even know what we found so terribly amusing, but I do know that it started out as some rather morbid puns and it just went downhill from there. We nearly fell out of the bunk-bed...twice.

 

4.) Then there was the night of the Book Healer gathering. I was working late, so I gathered my book mending supplies and laid my claim on one of the upstairs study rooms of the library. Alex and Monica came to visit me and so we all sat around the table and talked and I glued together the spines of books falling apart. Alex took pictures of me mending and as this is a blog dedicated to the art of book healing I shall include one.

 

There is something physiologically healing in mending books.

 

5.) Avonlea Night. Avonlea Night was THE BEST. Road to Avonlea was my childhood TV show. I watched that show every morning wrapped up in my favorite blanket. So watching it with my dear friends one night at college was the most soothing, lovely thing. Honestly, one of my favorite memories of the whole semester.



The Book Healer

There once was a girl named Emily who had a bad habit of making too many blogs. I'm sure people grew very tired of it, and none of them could keep track of her because of it. However, Emily felt, there are times when you realize that you're not at all the same person that you were, and because of it, you need a different sort of blog.

I can never bear to delete my previous blog designs however, because I put so much work into them. There were hours upon hours that I spent fiddling with layouts and templates and headers, and the thought of throwing all that away is a bit unbearable. It's like throwing out an old journal, a journal that you feel too old to write in, it's true, but a journal that you spent time with, a journal that was part of yourself. Things like that are too precious to throw out. That's one of the things I love best in writing a blog, as the years pass you have your old writing to read, to remember, and most of it's terrible, but it was you. I guess that's part of the reason why I've periodically felt the need to start a new blog, because I know I can't stay in that place that I was before, I have to move on. I can't stay twelve, writing in pencil with lots of exclamation marks. I can't stay fifteen, blogging about the things one writes about at fifteen. The reason I'm writing this is because I often have to remind myself of it. Nostalgia is something that hits me with a powerful potency. I get to reminiscing and then I moan about how I want to go back and be a little girl again (I know, Mom, I'm a pain. Sorry.)

So this is me. New blog, new place in life. I'm in college now, so I'll probably be writing quite a lot about that. I'm working at the college library, which is where the new name for this blog comes from. One of my great blessings during my first semester was that I was offered a position in the book bindery, so I get to mend books! Which is just about the best thing, let me tell you. Alexandra and Monica dubbed it being a Book Healer, which sounds magical and fairytale worthy (they are also magical and fairytale worthy, but more on that later.)

I'm just about to start my second semester of college, Christmas break is almost over, and that's why I feel now is a good time to be starting this. I don't know how much I'll be able to write during school, because if there's anything I learned during first semester it is there's never enough time for ANYTHING. I do know though, that I will always need a place to write. There will always be times where I need to write myself out, because the words are crying to be written. Writing has always been such a large part of my life, and I know it always will be. Even if I spend most of my blogging time during breaks and summer vacation, I know that I will be jumping at the opportunity to do so. It's nice to know that this will be here waiting for me.

I think that's where I shall end this. It has the feeling of a very good beginning, a very good beginning indeed.